


Finding Loki

by KaylaNorail



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Gen, Implied Violence, Loki Feels, in which Odin is a loving but a bit reckless father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaylaNorail/pseuds/KaylaNorail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Loki falls, the All-Father cannot just mourn.</p><p>He goes after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Loki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alwaysimagined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysimagined/gifts), [LadyCharity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCharity/gifts).



> Written by KaylaNorail
> 
> Based on the idea by alwaysimagined and LadyCharity: in which Odin searches for Loki in the Void, _Finding Nemo_ -style. Basically this idea has stuck to me and refused to let go—and eventually I found myself thinking a bit too much and I had to make a thing in order to let it all out.
> 
> So yes, this fic basically negates everything that happens in _The Avengers_ and beyond, but there were feels to take care of and feels are srs bsns.
> 
> First submitted to LC's tumblr, posted here with the ~~order~~ permission from both alwaysimagined and LC (also, fixed minor errors I managed to spot).

The Void is not a quiet place at all.

It is an incessant onslaught of sound and light and darkness and heat and frost, one by one or all at once, ready to rip apart the body and the mind of any unfortunate unprepared being that has the misfortune to find itself here.

Odin All-Father, however, was prepared.

_(You cannot really think of doing it, Father!)_

_(I understand your grief, dear, but you have yourself said it is hopeless.)_

He isn’t falling, he’s _gliding._ His shield forged from dark energy and the Odinforce is strong enough to carry him through the Void unscathed. But the All-Father knows that it is not invincible, and as he darts farther, scratches and dents start to appear. They are small yet, and easy to mend, but he knows that the longer his journey lasts, the harder it will be for him and the Void will finally start to affect him.

_(I implore you, Father, abandon this plan. Do not waste your life on an impossible quest.)_

_(Please, stay. I am already mourning my son; do not make me mourn my husband too.)_

He doesn’t think about it. He cannot go back yet.

He tears through the dark-and-bright, scorching-and-freezing, noise-filled space, his one eye searching for any possible trace of his son.

_(My words were what have sent him down there and so it shall be my hand that will pull him back.)_

And traces he finds. Shards of the shattered bridge. Scraps of metal from the destroyed observatory. Fading wisps of magic, some of them tiny and fragile, like smoke from a blown out candle, some considerably larger, but dissipating, some looking as if they were still trying to assume a more refined shape. Over time he is able to identify which are which; he can tell the spontaneous outbursts apart from half-woven spells cast in order to cling to the fabric of space and find a hole to slip through.

Sometimes there are afterimages and echoes, appearing and then disappearing, as if to taunt him, and he is not even sure whether they are really here or his mind is tricking him. The All-Father sees his son falling, unprotected and exposed to the vicious _everything_ of the Void, hears him screaming, watches him trying to cast a spell which would make it all _stop,_ but, unable to concentrate enough in the constant influx of chaos, eventually letting go of his magic too early. But every time Odin reaches out to him, the image dissipates into nothing.

In the rare inhabited world he passes through he hears the stories of unusual falling stars, rainbow and green and golden. And Odin follows their trail, guided by hearsay, crystal splinters, metal pieces, illusions, snippets of magic, and his own guilt, growing heavier with every next trace he stumbles upon.

The scratches turn into cracks. The cracks begin to be troublesome to mend.

He descends deeper into the universe and it gets darker and colder; even the noise seems to gradually lose its volume. Nothing seems to fill the space, but that strange nothing still affects his shield. There are no inhabitants there to listen to and the traces get scarcer and scarcer. All he can find now is some crystal dust—and magic, bleaker and weaker and _darker_.

There comes the moment even the dust and the magic are nowhere to be found. But there are still the images, though more hazy and flickering. His son is still falling, but now he does not move, does not try to perform magic, does not scream anymore, apparently too exhausted ( _yes,_ the All-Father thinks, shooing away the ominous whispers in his head, _exhausted, simply exhausted_ ) to do anything at all, with no option other than just let the violent torrent of the Void carry him farther into the unknown.

The cracks get wider and deeper and the Void starts to take its toll on him. He should go back. He really should, or else he may never see his home again.

_I will come back. And he will come back with me._

And then he spots it again: a wisp of magic. But it’s not on what the All-Father supposed to be the right trail. And it appears to be a leftover of neither an outburst nor an unfinished spell.

A spell successfully cast.

The All-Father’s heart beats faster as he sidetracks and heads towards the barren planetoid. He calls out, he looks around—and finds nothing.

His son undoubtedly was here at some point; the magic the remains of which still float around the dreary landscape are definitely his. But apart from that, there is no other sign of him.

The All-Father continues his search, but the diversion has made him lost his path. He wanders around the dark, unknown space, forced to slow down because of the damage his shield has already taken.

Time flies—just how much of it has already passed, weeks, month, years?—and he cannot spot any other traces of his son. He appears to be lost. Despair slowly creeps into his mind.

But then there’s another wisp, this time on a moon of a desolate planet. He searches the whole of it, only to find something that unsettles him deeply.

There are footprints, of only one person at first, and then there are more. Bigger ones. _Monstrous_ ones.

And finally, dried stains on the ground. Dark red stains.

He hurries away, not paying attention to the worsening condition of his shield.

_Where are you, child?_

The traces cease to appear for yet another eternity, until he finds a third wisp, a fresher one than the previous two. Hoping that maybe, just _maybe_ this is the right place, he almost crashes into the rocky surface of an ancient, long-dead planet.

And he finds him.

 

* * *

 

“Oh.”

Loki stares at him, eyes wide in surprise. And he is a _wreck;_ he is no longer slender but painfully thin, his face, half-hidden behind dirty strands of hair, seems hollow, his clothes are torn and bloodstained and his armor is missing. The visible patches of his skin are covered in numerous bruises, cuts and burns. He is clearly struggling to keep his back straight and something seems to be very, very wrong with his leg. There is still, however, a glimmer in his bloodshot eyes, but it is no longer mischievous—it’s apprehensive and almost _feral._

Suddenly, he bares his teeth in a crooked grin.

“This is… pathetic.” His voice is hoarse and almost unrecognizable. “You could have chosen so many things, and yet you went with _this…_ ” He laughs dryly and shakes his head. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable and _pathetic._ ”

His words are confusing and Odin doesn’t know what to make of them. He takes a step closer, holding out his hands.

“Loki,” he says, “I am here to take you home.”

“Even your words are _exactly the same!_ ” Blatant mockery rings in Loki’s voice. “You are _not_ going to fool me this time.” He raises his hands, glimmering with faint golden light. “ _Farewell._ ”

Before Odin can do anything, however, pain contorts Loki’s features; he groans and collapses onto his knees. “No—” he gasps, staring at his hands as the light enveloping them fades to nothing. “No, no, no, _please—_ ”

Baffled and worried, Odin draws closer; trembling, Loki looks up, fear written all over him.

“No— _stay away!_ ” he screams as he scrambles to his feet and tries to run, only to fall down almost immediately. A chuckle escapes his lips as he pushes himself up on his arms. Odin stops just a step away from him.

“Loki, what ails you?” he asks as gently as he can.

“Why are you even doing this?” Loki responds, not even looking back at him. “You should be aware that you no longer need these tricks. I cannot run away now, I am—I am _spent;_ you can just come and take me back and I _cannot even fight you anymore._ ”

“What tricks do you speak of?”

“Or,” Loki carries on, ignoring the question, “this is not _exactly_ a lure.” The ghastly smile again adorning his face, he looks back at the All-Father. “You could capture me at any given moment, but no, first you will _tease_ me a little.” His smile widens. “Not this time. I _know_ no one is ever going to find me, no one is ever going to even _try,_ not Thor and _certainly_ not the All-Father. Shed your illusion then and let us _move on_.”

Odin hesitates no more.

In less than a second he is on his knees, pulling Loki into a tight embrace.

At first, Loki resists. He screams and struggles against the grip with the little strength he still has, his nailless fingers claw at the arms holding him, until he eventually goes slack, drawing ragged, uneven breaths.

“Stop,” he whispers. “Stop. _Stop._ ”

“I am not an illusion, Loki,” Odin says softly. “This is the real me. I am here and I am taking you home.”

“ _Stop mocking me._ ” Loki’s voice cracks. “He would not come. He would _never_ come, not for me. He would not risk so much for a—for a _monster_ like me. It was _him_ who cast me out, why would he try to retrieve me afterwards?”

“This is exactly why. Because I have made a mistake, the gravest one in my life, and I needed to amend it.” He breathes deeply and finally says, “I am sorry, my son.”

“No,” Loki blurts, “I told you to _stop it,_ he would never say that, he would never call me that again, he would never, _ever…_ ” His words dissolve into sobs and he bursts into tears, his head resting against the All-Father’s chest.

“I’m here, Loki,” Odin utters and kisses Loki’s temple. “I’m here. Calm down, child. We are going home.”

“He would _kill me on sight,_ ” Loki tries to snarl, but it sounds more like a whimper. “I am a monster, and monsters should be _slain._ ”

_(When I'm king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!)_

“You are no monster.” Odin pulls back and cups Loki’s face, staring right into his teary eyes. “You are my child and I love you.”

Loki does not respond and only stares back for a while. Finally, he clenches his teeth and shuts his eyes, as if bracing himself for a blow.

“So be it,” he says.

_He still does not believe me._

Odin sighs and carefully scoops Loki up in his arms, holding him close to his chest.

And Loki gasps in surprise and opens his eyes again. He does not say anything; his haggard face somehow brightens and new tears gather in his eyes. His hand slowly comes up and tentatively touches the All-Father’s breastplate.

Their eyes meet once again and one look is enough for Odin to _know._

“We are going home, son,” he says, managing a small smile.

Loki nods and closes his eyes, tears trailing down his cheeks.

As Odin concentrates to gather his remaining power to mend his shield ( _let there be enough to carry us back, oh, let there be enough_ ), he hears a quietest, perfectly calm whisper.

“ _Thank you._ ”

He responds with another kiss, this time on the crown of Loki’s head.

In the next moment, the All-Father is soaring, clutching his son firmly in his arms.

 _Let us get back home,_ he prays in his head to whoever may hear him now. _Please, let us get back home._

_Let me bring him home._


End file.
